How Not to Get the Girl
written June 9, 2008
"In the poker game of life, women are the rake."
Relationships usually start in one of a few ways: 1) meet, date, have sex; 2) meet, have sex, date; or 3) have sex, meet the next morning, then date. You can throw friendship in there for some more variations, but I think those cover the basics. Roast Beef and I met, quasi-dated/hung out some, and pretty much immediately started having sex. I'm that good. Or she's that easy. I'm not sure.
Anyway, after we'd been hooking up for about a month or so, some friends of mine came up from VA for a taste of Baltimore nightlife. Roast Beef was never much into drinking so she didn't hang out with us, and I'm a terrible host to begin with so nothing particularly exciting happened this night. We drank in the dorms, showed up to the tail end of a party, went back to the dorm to drink some more, lost track of time, and headed to the bar only to realize it was closing in half an hour. The most notable occurrence of the night was probably when I lost to a GIRL in Tekken and permanently lost a piece of my manhood as part of the experience. After that, I finished everybody's drinks (partly because I was depressed about losing, partly because they were pussies and couldn't finish their drinks, but mostly because this was the part of my life where I had to get shitfaced to compensate for my lack of personality). Soon after, we decided it was getting late. My friends needed a place to sleep, and the dorms are not big enough for five people to sleep comfortably, so I used this as a great excuse to go upstairs and fuck Roast Beef. Charming, I know. (Note: this is about a month into our relationship, you know, when sex was something we still thought was exciting and looked forward to.)
This is pretty much the point in the night where I black out and don't remember a damn thing. If we skip to my next clear memory, it's me waking up ALONE in some girl's bed. After contemplating how bad I could have possibly been for a girl just to up and leave after sex, I realize that "some girl" is Roast Beef. Little did I know how bad I really was. These are the details according to Roast Beef.
I come upstairs after drinking with my friends. By my knock on the door she can tell how wasted I am. We talk a little, and I probably say something super suave like, "I wanna fuck your brains out," because we're going at it before too long. When she recounted this to me later she said she didn't really want to have sex because I was so drunk. She only did it because we were in the beginning stages of our relationship and she didn't want to disappoint me, or something like that. Quite the little charmer I was, eh? So we're going at it... or I'm going at it and she's laying there. Then I stop.
"Are you done?" (I can only imagine the tone of relief in her voice.)
"No I... I just need to stop..." (I can only imagine my uncanny ability to slur these simple words.)
"Do you want some water?"
She gets up to get me some water, and when she turns around I am no longer in the bed, but standing by the door, naked, supporting myself on the micro-fridge.
Let me paint a more accurate picture for you. We're still fairly new as a couple--you know, the stage where you're still trying to impress each other. I'm supposed to be wooing her with flowers, charm, and new tricks in bed. Instead, I have a drunken night on the town without her, include her in my night for selfish sex and selfish sex only, and then stop because I'm too drunk to finish. Why she stuck with me for three years, I have no fucking clue.
So I'm propping myself on the micro-fridge with one hand because I'm too drunk to stand on my own two feet when she gives me the water. I take a sip, and the next step was almost as inevitable as the day is long.
I vomit. All over the floor. Little splatters onto the side of the micro-fridge. Little splatters onto the door. Little splatters onto the wall. Little splatters everywhere.
Roast Beef: OH GOD! THE BATHROOM!! GO TO THE BATHROOM!
Me: No no, I'm good now. I'm ok...
You know how after you throw up you have that nasty throw up taste in your mouth? I hate that taste. I mean I really hate that taste. So what's the quickest, most effective way to get rid of that taste? I'm not coherent enough to make the three foot walk to the bathroom - which happens to be complete with a toilet, trash can, and mouthwash - so I spit on the floor. A lot.
I just threw up all over her floor, and now I'm spitting the remnants on top of it. Lovely.
Roast Beef: What the hell are you doing?! Go spit in the toilet!
Still hunched over, I put my hand up as if everything is A-OK. "No no, I'm good. I'll clean it up. It's ok."
I spit some more.
I finally stop phase one of this little charade and transition to phase two: clean up. Roll of paper towels? That would make too much sense. I go in the bathroom and grab the toilet paper. If you've ever tried to wipe up something with toilet paper, you know how it just disintegrates on contact, balls up, and becomes an even bigger mess. Now imagine cleaning an ENTIRE POOL OF VOMIT with toilet paper. If there was any possible way to make the situation worse than it already was, I found it. I can only imagine the combination of pity, rage, and dread (she has to live with the putrid smell for the next few weeks) swelling up inside Roast Beef at this point. She finally convinces me to stop, puts me in bed where I immediately pass out, and cleans up my mess.
The funny thing is I am just now realizing what a shitty boyfriend I must have been. Hats off to Roast Beef.
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- Sex and the City and the Idiots Who Quote It
- Reasoning with Women is Like Pissing in the Wind
- Red Flags to Look for in Relationships
- Waiting for My Nuts to Drop
- Adivce for Sluts
- Ladies Night: Helping Sluts Feel Classy Since 1833
- You Might Be a Slut If...
- The Four Animals Women Need
- How to Have Great Sex
- People You Should Hate
- People You Should Hate - Part 2
- Skinny Bitch Book Review